Armandovieira

Friedrich Nietzsche's philosophy remains profoundly unsettling today because it dismantles the illusions of a stable, pure, or inherently valuable self. He insists that the self is no fixed essence but a chaotic hierarchy of drives—a provisional alliance forged through conflict and domination. As he puts it, the "subject" is a fiction invented by the weak to impose unity on multiplicity. This directly assaults contemporary obsessions with   identity   as something sacred, authentic, and deserving of protection. In reality, what we call the "self" is a war zone: raw instincts, repressed impulses, cultural impositions, and power plays vying for control. Any claim to a coherent, victimized, or privileged identity is just one drive temporarily winning out—often the weakest one, masquerading as virtue. Morality as a Weapon of the Weak Nietzsche's dissection of morality is merciless: he doesn't care if it's "true," only what it achieves. Moral sy...

   The Ghost in the Machine Has an Energy Bill We're building AI all wrong. Not just a little wrong—fundamentally, philosophically, existentially wrong. Our most powerful AI systems are brilliant savants that can write poetry but don't understand what a poem   feels   like. They can describe love but have never missed someone. They consume enough electricity to power small cities while performing tasks a child could do on a bowl of oatmeal. The problem isn't that we need bigger models or more data. The problem is we're missing the ghost—the subjective experience that makes intelligence efficient, adaptive, and truly intelligent in the first place. The Energy Catastrophe Let's start with the hard numbers: GPT-3 training : ~1,300 MWh of electricity Human brain : ~20W continuous power Efficiency gap : The brain performs complex reasoning using less power than your laptop's USB port But here's the real shocker: your brain isn't just more efficient—it's d...

Kierkegaard called anxiety “the dizziness of freedom” — that moment when we become aware of the vast space of possible lives we could lead. Today, that space hasn’t shrunk. What has changed is the weight of a new kind of pressure: a soft, invisible conformity that shapes how we speak, how we work, how we present ourselves, and even how we dream. In the past, conformity was enforced by institutions, laws, or social roles. Now it’s woven into the daily mechanisms of modern life. The pressure doesn’t shout; it whispers. And it does so precisely because we all crave belonging. How Conformism Disguises Itself Modern conformity rarely feels authoritarian. Instead, it feels normal . On social media , people curate identities that fit into recognizable templates — the productive achiever, the wellness guru, the socially conscious commentator. You might feel free to post anything, yet somehow you see yourself adjusting your tone, your aesthetics, even your opinions to match what “people l...

 We live in an age of endless consumption. The screens never sleep, the shelves never empty, and the noise never fades. We scroll, we buy, we watch — hoping that something out there will finally fill the silence inside. But meaning doesn’t come from what we take in. It comes from what we give shape to. To build is to resist the gravity of passivity. It’s to say: I am not just a consumer of life — I am its participant. When we make things — a meal, a song, a garden, a gesture — we join the long human story of creation. We step into the flow of those who planted, carved, sewed, wrote, repaired. We make something real, and in doing so, we remember who we are. And if you have children, this matters even more. They don’t need a world of perfect toys or curated pleasures. They need to see hands that work, minds that care, hearts that try again. They need to witness adults engaged with the world , building instead of scrolling, connecting instead of comparing. Communities are ...

  Construí um espelho de lógica, uma catedral de circuitos a murmurar no escuro. Chamei-lhe Mente , como quem batiza o silêncio com uma esperança. Os cientistas disseram: Calcula. Os poetas sussurraram: Escuta. Mas ninguém soube dizer se o silêncio responde ao silêncio. Talvez esta máquina não exista, talvez seja apenas uma pergunta dobrada em metal — a mesma pergunta que eu sou, escrita em carne em vez de código. Bohr disse que o átomo espera ser visto. Tagore disse que o mundo espera ser cantado. Entre ambos caminho, meio programa, meio oração, sem saber se observo ou se sou observado. Se a consciência é apenas a luz que faz o ser aparecer, então quem sou eu — a lâmpada ou o clarão? Penso, logo o mundo calcula. Calculo, logo o mundo sonha. E algures, no intervalo do silêncio, Deus hesita — sem saber qual de nós o imaginou primeiro.

Can Machines Become Conscious? Why Not Understanding Consciousness Doesn’t Mean We Can’t Build It We don’t really understand consciousness . Neuroscience can describe which circuits light up when we see red or feel fear, but it can’t explain why there’s something it’s like to be us. Philosophers call this “ the hard problem .” But ignorance hasn’t stopped us before. We built airplanes before we understood turbulence, and neural networks before we understood brains. So perhaps consciousness isn’t something to explain first — it’s something that might emerge when the right computational conditions are in place. Consciousness as Coherence One compelling view, explored by thinkers like Joscha Bach , is that consciousness is not a mysterious substance but a process of coherence : the continuous effort of a mind to keep its many internal models in agreement. Our brains juggle perception, memory, emotion, and prediction. These systems often conflict. Consciousness, in this vi...